If you’ve not been around here long, you won’t know about my deep loathing for spiders.
It’s deep. If loathing was an ocean, my ocean of loathing would go to depths that can’t even be plumbed by the most modern of submersibles. I’m benthic in my loathing, highly benthic. There is no light at the bottom of my depth of loathing, and scary critters with glow-in-the-dark digestive organs roam its inscrutable climes. Oh yes.
So, imagine my response when Thing 1 announced this morning that there was a spider in the car.
I do believe I (largely) involuntary uttered an crudity for self-love. Thing 1 does not get shocked by this, as he has discerned that Mom (that’s me) tends to shout random bad words when upset.
The spider was tan, about the size of a new pencil eraser, and sitting just to the left of the volume control knob. This put said viscious Tiff-killing arachnid within INCHES of my person.
Inches is not far enough.
Despite being currently engaged in the practice sometimes known as “dropping the kids off at school,” I began behaving like I was about to be dipped in scalding acid, complete with flailing, shrieking, and exhortations to the poor 12-year-old Thing 1 to “kill it! FIND some thing and KILL IT!”
Thinking quickly, Thing 1 grabbed a CD case and tried to smash the evil beast, but suceeded only partically in the smashing. If, by “partially,” you mean that his attempts at carnage only managed to disengage the spider from its comfy spot. Yes friends, the horrific demon of Athropodia disappearedinmyCAR.
But to where? It truly HAD disappeared, and even though I didn’t really WANT to find it, my efforts to calm my nerves with the thought that maybe it had been taken up to heaven like Ezekiel (or poofed into the ether by some other similarly magical happenstance) were shot completely when Thing 1 opined “ya know Mom, once I’m gone to school you’re going to be alone in the car with that spider.”
Gee, thanks buddy. You're a BIG help.
Dreadfully, it was only about 40 seconds after THAT gem that he said “I see it!” and, just for effect, stared right at ME while shouting his good news.
Friends, I’m here to tell you that much headslapping occurred, because this woman thought the daggone thing had landed in her hair (somehow? Gravity went backwards? Yes? Spiders are sneaky bastards, and so I wouldn’t put reversing gravity’s effect among their heretofore unknown bag of tricks.)
But no, the spider had landed in the spot under the ashtray where the phone charger goes.
The car, somehow, and certainly not due to any panicked white-knuckling on MY part, started swerving again, and I lost sight of the fact that people expected me to move up in line every so often. Sometimes people have no idea of where my priorities lie. Sweartogawd. I think I might have screamed a tiny ladylike scream that may or may not have caused the crack in the windshield to lengthen by several inches, then began frantically seraching for something, ANYTHING to kill that little futhamucka before I was left alone in the car with it.
I spotted a book of “Bible verses of Advent.”
Desperate times being what they are, and me being determined to off this wee tan SOB by any means necessary, I snatched up the tract, angled in on the multiply bejointed spectre that was starting to crawl TOWARD me, and, slapping the verse-infused weapon of doom down hard, I shouted:
“Welcome to DEATH BY BABY JESUS!”
Whaddaya know? It worked.
Plus which, it made Thing 1 and I laugh so hard we were both in tears by the time he had to get out of the car.
“Death by Jesus.” It’s my new band name.